CLIFFORD’S NEW HOPE
Almost before some of the crowd knew it had begun, the fifty-yard dash
was over. Coddling had won!
“White Wings just flew the coop, and landed the first prize!” whooped a
wild Clifford enthusiast, as he jumped up and down in his excitement.
“And we’ve got a few surprises like Coddling up our sleeve, Columbia!”
cried a second proud student, who wore the colors of the down-river
school.
“He did carry it off, sure as anything!” remarked Lanky, feeling a
little discouraged. “And I thought our man, Paul Bird, had a sure
thing.”
“Paul entered in the wrong class there,” remarked Frank. “Just wait
till you see him run in the hundred-yard race, and the quarter-mile.
They’ve got them so scattered that he can rest up good, between each
one. Didn’t you notice that while the Clifford fellow went like the
wind at first, Paul was cutting down his lead in great shape when they
crossed the line?”
“That’s a fact, Frank,” admitted Lanky.
“If that race had been twice as far, Paul would have had him easily
beaten. Well, let Clifford roar all she wants, right now; perhaps the
poor thing won’t have another chance to whoop it up all day.”
“She generally does get it in the neck, somehow, before the end comes,”
admitted Lanky. “There never was such luck, the Clifford boys say. But,
all the same, Frank, they are talking loud about what they’re going to
do to us in that long run.”
“They’re welcome to say what they please,” the other remarked, calmly.
“Talk is cheap, and boasting hurts no one but those who carry it to
excess. The proof of the pudding is in the eating thereof. We’ll talk
less, and _do_ something, Lanky.”
“That’s the stuff, fellows!” cried a Columbia boy who happened to be
passing, and caught the last few words of what Frank said.
“There comes the new Clifford runner, who’s going to make us look like
thirty cents, they say. What’s his name, Frank; did you notice it on
the program?” Lanky asked.
“Larry Parker,” Frank replied; “and I rather think he’s coming right
over now to take a look at the three Columbia fellows who will be
against him in that race. Of course he’s heard a heap about your
doings on Saturday; and he means to size you up. We’ll have to be
agreeable to him, remember, Lanky. This is our ground, and to-day
Clifford and Bellport are our guests.”
“Sure thing,” muttered the tall lad, eyeing the approaching runner; who
had a large “C” on his sleeveless shirt to indicate to which school he
belonged, just as if the colors he sported would not do that.
Evidently Larry Parker was somewhat of a breezy sort, for he came up to
the two Columbia boys, whom he had never met before, and extended his
hand.
“Hello! fellows!” he exclaimed. “I’m told that this is Frank Allen, and
Lanky Wallace, two of Columbia’s star long-distance runners. And as I’m
entered in that little jaunt myself this afternoon, with a few foolish
Clifford boys thinking I’ve got a fighting chance to win, thought
I’d like to know you a little, before I see the last of you over my
shoulder.”
There was a cool assurance about the fellow that impressed Frank
against him. It was not that he felt the utmost confidence in himself,
for that is no crime; but he acted as though treating the others with
disdain.
Frank did not like the face he saw. There was a sly, crafty expression
on it, he believed. To his mind, then, this new Clifford hope, Larry
Parker, would not hesitate about descending to trickery, if by means
of it he might increase his chances for winning his race. The means
did not count in such a fellow’s mind, only what lay at the end. And
in this case the handsome prize offered was a gold watch, surely worth
exerting one’s very best powers in the hope of winning.
Another thing Frank noticed, for he was quick to discover little items
that might stand for a great deal.
“Um! a cigarette smoker, eh?” was what he said to himself, as he saw
that the first and second fingers of the other’s hand were stained
yellow; and Frank knew just what that meant. “Chances are, that if he’s
a good runner now, he won’t be a year from to-day. And I’d like to
wager a good deal that he falls down in the last part of this ten-mile
race. So this is the chap who never turns a hair after he’s clipped off
his cool ten, is it? I guess he won’t win against a clean fellow like
Lanky, with no bad habits to weaken him for the strain.”
Frank knew that Larry Parker had only come across from the Clifford
benches to size them up at close quarters. He was doubtless trying to
discover some signs of weakness about them. Besides, it might pay him
to know two of the contestants before the race was called.
He stood there, and chatted for a little while, laughing at some of
the accidents that accompanied the next few events. One fellow from
Bellport, who tried to beat Jack Comfort’s throw of the weight, forgot
to let go; and was whirled around like a teetotum, or a dancing dervish
as seen over in Northern Africa. They took him off the field with a
dislocated shoulder, so that he needed the attention of a doctor.
Frank did not like the way Larry Parker seemed to enjoy a thing like
this. On his part he felt genuinely sorry for the poor chap; but the
Clifford newcomer looked on it as extremely funny.
Watching his hands after this, Frank noticed that they seemed to
tremble constantly, which was a rather strange thing in a mere lad.
“That’s what they say excessive cigarette smoking will do for a fellow,
Lanky,” he managed to whisper in the ear of his chum a little later on;
for be it told, Lanky at several times had been known to indulge in
a smoke of the “coffin nail,” as he scoffingly called it. “Watch his
hands, and see them flutter. It acts on his heart. If he keeps it up, a
year from now he’ll never be able to run at all.”
Lanky gave a grunt, and turned a little red; but immediately looked
away. It was apparently more satisfactory to turn his eyes toward
that corner of the stand where a certain little rosy-cheeked girl
sat, waving her Columbia flag every time he looked that way. And
doubtless the sight of Dora Baxter inspired Lanky with more and more
determination to do himself proud on this day.
Presently the wiry-looking Clifford athlete betook himself off,
apparently satisfied with his view of his two rivals at close quarters.
“What do you think of him, Frank?” asked Lanky. “Is he the great wonder
they say, and do we need to fear him?”
“He’s got all the points of a good runner in his make-up,” replied
Frank. “To tell the truth, he makes me think of some of the Indian
long-distance runners whose pictures I’ve got at home--Longboat in
particular. Yes, if that fellow let tobacco alone, and paid attention
to himself, I rather think he’d look at the bunch of us over his
shoulder as he led the procession all along the ten miles.”
“But he does use cigarettes; I saw his stained fingers,” Lanky went on;
“and do you expect that is going to hurt his chances?”
“I don’t doubt it any more than I doubt my eyes when I see you in front
of me,” Frank went on, earnestly. “And another thing, Lanky, I must say
I don’t admire his face very much.”
“Why, what’s the matter with it, Frank? Now, all things considered, I
was sayin’ to myself that he’s a heap handsomer than Lanky Wallace ever
can be.”
“Oh! well, we’re not talking about good looks now, you know,” laughed
Frank. “Anybody could take just one glance at your face, and know that
he’d be able to trust you to the limit. But, Lanky, there was something
that I think bordered on treachery and cunning in his shifty eyes, and
the sneer on his face.”
“Whew! that’s layin’ it on pretty thick, Frank!”
“I wouldn’t think of saying it to a living soul, only you; and I do it
now because I honestly believe that fellow would be mean enough to do
something to disable you, if he saw that you were going to pass him,
and no one seemed to be looking. He would stick out his foot, and trip
you, hoping you’d strain an ankle in the tumble, and have to give up.”
“Great governor! you don’t say so, Frank!” ejaculated Lanky; “but he
might know I’d tell it on him after I did limp in!”
“And he’d claim that it was entirely unintentional on his part--that
he slipped, and came near falling himself, when he tripped you. All I
want to remark is this, Lanky; keep your eye on him, and look out for a
trick, if you do start to go ahead of him. That fellow believes in the
rule or ruin policy, if ever it was written on a boy’s face. But see,
here comes the sack race; it ought to be funny enough to make us forget
all our troubles.”
The crowd was in a mood for something comical; and if sack races are
properly conducted, they afford plenty of fun; except for some of the
unfortunate participants who in falling manage to skin their noses.
As the sacks had been secured from a regular sporting goods house in
the city they were made substantially, and doubly reinforced at the
bottom. Being tied around the necks of the contestants there was no
possible way in which they could make use of their arms in order to
block a stumble, or save themselves in the event of a fall.
At the signal they all started hopping or wriggling along in such
manner as each bagged contestant thought would best advance his
interests. And soon the vast crowd was shrieking with laughter to see
the comical sight, as each lad made the most desperate efforts to get
ahead.
“Almost down to the last event, Lanky,” said Bones Shadduck, an hour
later, crossing over to where a number of the Columbia boys stood
clustered around Frank and the tall boy.
“If Bellport takes this pole vault, as I’m afraid she will,” declared
Buster Billings, dejectedly, “the score will stand a tie between
Columbia and Bellport, with seven wins apiece, and two for Clifford.
That means you’ve just _got_ to come in ahead of the Bellport runners,
Lanky, Frank or Bones. Oh! please get wings on your feet, and don’t let
those Bellport crowds go through Columbia this afternoon, shouting and
howling like crazy Indians, because they’ve licked us at last!”
“Well, here goes the pole vaulting contest,” remarked another Columbia
student; “and Captain Lee looks fit to jump over a two-story house.
He’s bound to beat our man, Ginger Harper, hand over fist.”
His words turned out to be the truth, for Cuthbert Lee easily beat the
best record that either of his contestants could hang up. This made the
excitement intense; for as the nine long-distance runners came slowly
to the scratch, everybody realized that the score was tied between
Bellport and Columbia, just as it used to be in a tight baseball game.
And if one of their entries won this last match, the long run, it would
mean victory for his school!
And knowing this, the runners themselves were nerved to do their level
best when they drew up in a line, and began to get ready to jump at the
crack of the pistol.